


Streange Empire: Everything Is Permitted

by Hapticwave



Category: Assassin's Creed, Strange Empire (TV)
Genre: Alternative Sexuality, Assassination, Crossover, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:33:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3081407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hapticwave/pseuds/Hapticwave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s 1869 and the Templars have their sights on even the rugged wilds outside the Montana border. It’s up to the Assassins, Morgan Finn and Uncle Pike, to find out what the Templars are after. But every day they delay action results in more deaths. If they don’t do something soon, there might not be anyone to save. They’re pushed into action when a Templar associate of Cornelius Slotter enters town with an artifact of Eden that will solidify their influence in the region. To beat him, Finn and Pike will need the help of Marshal Caleb Mecredi. Only, he isn’t so willing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Streange Empire: Everything Is Permitted

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Setting takes place after the mine explosion

Uncle Pike’s carriage had more than just the usual number of hidden compartments. Usually, if an officer of the law finds two of them and sees nothing but a few nuggets of gold, legal papers, some tobacco, and whiskey he doesn’t look too hard for anymore. They especially don’t tend to look inside the compartments themselves for a switch that opens the back. If any did, they’d find evidence more damning than what’s on my chest. Assassin blades. Poisons. Names and photos of Templars.

Pike’s flashy robe and hood are there too, kept safe in their wrap of cloth and twine. Only saw him in them twice when he goes off to meet the brotherhood. He looked different, like all the niceties he carries falls away and is replaced by something fearsome.

I could use a little of that right now. That kind of look and walk to put fear inside men. I could do more with that kind of power.

A carriage of hidden gear never seeing day isn’t enough. Not for Janestown. There’re good people here, and troubled people needing guiding away from the bad. It’s too late for the coal miners caught in the blast. I don’t think it was just a tragic mistake. My gut knows it wasn’t.

I took the hidden blades out of their cubby to help me think. Like the moonlight glinting off the blades could divine me an answer. Who to kill to make this all better. Not Slotter. Too many dreams riding on him for that devil to die without a replacement. Ling could take over in some months, but he’ll drive too many lives into early graves to get there. It was a mistake to overlook him. He’d have reason to blow the mines, the poor soul. And the men to pull the deed off.

It’s a clear night. The moon is full. For once, the town is quiet and the drunks are already lying in their stupors. I should put the blades back before I’m seen by someone who’ll remember, but I don’t. Because maybe I should be putting them on rather than away.

“We’re just here to observe,” Pike says, appearing out of a shadow behind me.

I don’t startle. He trained that out of me a good long time ago. “I can’t stay idle while these people die. Not anymore. Something needs doing.”

He sits down and throws his handkerchief over the blades in my hands. “Adding blood to the flow won’t stop it.”

I grit my teeth. “Neither will doing nothing.”

“Cornelius is who we’re after and it’s not up us. We watch and we ferry. That’s all.”

“While we watch, these people die. And those that survive get…corrupted.” I shut my eyes as the images of Thomas’ heart and Rebecca’s perplexed face comes up. “It’s not right.”

“It’s not Templar doing. Good or bad, these people made their choices. It’s permitted.”

“As if they had _better_ choices to make.”

Pike’s shoulder’s sag and he looks up at the moon. “You’re not wrong.”

Disgust comes out my mouth. “But I’m not right.”

“Come up with a plan. If I think it’ll work, I’ll help. Don’t give me one tonight. Think on it. And not over _those_.” He pointed at my hands.

I put the blades back in their hiding place and Pike is gone when I turn around.

I wander. My head’s still racing. I want to check on Rebecca, make sure she’s not the next victim of this place. I also want to stay away. What she does with corpses… I know it’ll only get worse. She could go from doctor to butcher and it’ll be her name next on a feather.

I catch glimpses of faces in windows looking my way. Everyone is a little suspicious of everyone else. It’s no good for someone with a lot to hide.

A voice of a pixie catches my ear. “Little late to be out. Bed too cold?”

She comes out from between two of the cribs swaying her skirts so the flashing material catches the moonlight. Her smile is impish and full of trickery.

I cover the grimace on my face by tipping my hat. “And you, Miss Logan? Found no one to warm yours?”

Miss Logan holds her arms behind her back and shrugs like she’s playing a game. “Enough come running I never need to look very far. I just happen to like the night is all.” She raises her gaze to the starry sky then smirks. “We could warm each other.”

Can’t look at her any longer. “Haven’t you figured me out?”

She steps closer and intertwines her fingers atop my shoulder. “Spend the night. I won’t bite. As for what you got or don’t, it don’t matter. People will talk if you keep pacing around town like you’re plotting murder.” She takes my hand in hers and I let her lead me to her crib.

Inside, with the door shut and locks, the shutters shut, she takes my hat and places it on her own head with that pixie laugh of hers.

That might’ve worked on some guys, made them laugh, but the gesture just makes my insides all curdled up. I want to leave already. This was a bad idea. But losing my temper won’t get me anywhere good. I go to the bed and yank off my boots. “Am I funny to you?”

“Yes!”

It’s a hard blow I feel in my chest. I can’t look up from the floor like my eyes are drilled to it.

Her heels click on the floor until I see her pretty boots where I’m staring. Her hands are on her hips and she’s still smiling as playful as ever. There’s no meanness in them eyes. “It’s funny the way you follow Mrs. Blithely round like a puppy. Funny how you’re so concerned with what’s natural and so quick to judge when some might say you’re not so natural yourself. It’s also funny that you got such pretty hair you’re covering in grease all the time.”

Miss Logan threads her fingers through my hair then, curiously.

I let out a gravelly breath. “You have a point.”

Her smile widens and she pushes me back onto the bedding. She lifts her skirts and legs to sit on my waist. “I’m _funny_ too.”

“That you are, Miss Logan.” I still feel uneasy. It doesn’t sit right with me that she knows. Can’t help but wonder how she sees me. It knots me up until I don’t know where I begin or end. Rebecca made it all feel right up to a point. She made it feel like the bandages weren’t there. I ruined that. But it was time to.

Miss Logan is staring at me and neither of us is moving. “So it’s just Rebecca you feel for.”

My tongue turns bitter and I can’t answer.

Miss Logan sighs dramatically and turns it off just as suddenly. “That’s fine. We don’t got to do nothing.”

She slips onto her side next to me. Her perfect curls brush against my cheek. I hazard a glance and she has her eyes shut. That playful smile still planted on her face.

We lie like that for a while until I muster up the resolve to say, “Shouldn’t sleep with all that on.”

She pops up like a daisy not bothering to hide she was only pretending to sleep. “Then let’s get comfortable.” Her giddy fingers undo my shirt and I see the confused disappointment dawn on her face.

“Can’t you do better than those?” She means the bandages.

“It’s how my uncle taught me. It’s the one thing I could do without.”

“Wouldn’t fool too many if they stuck out.”

My jaw is tight. “I am what God made me. No shame in that. All this, is for everyone else’s sake. To make them feel better about me being a man. But I know me. These bandages don’t cover anything not meant to be there.”

Her index and middle finger walk up my chest, over the bandages. “That’s all too much for me, but I do know one thing, Morgan Finn.”

I brace myself. “What’s that?”

“This shirt isn’t coming off with you lying still.”

Her trickery is starting to work because I smile.

We get our clothes off and get under the covers. She doesn’t comment on my body as she rests her head below my chin. Should be easy to breathe, she’s light, but I’m starting to choke. Can’t trust any of this. The warmth and comfort should be relieving. Instead, I’m stiffening up.

Her hand strokes my arm. “Shh, it’s alright.”

I don’t want to be that weak. Yet when I open my mouth to reply a sob escapes. Can’t hold the rest that follow despite my trying. Miss Logan keeps stroking my sides with mothering patience.

She gets through finally. I calm down.

She doesn’t ask what was wrong. Also doesn’t say a man wouldn’t cry and I’m grateful for that.

I don’t tell her what got to me.

I don’t think she would understand what it’s like to only have an uncle that sees me for who I am and no one else. Or how precious that makes touching someone else and being touched.

 

* * *

 

 

Pike takes the carriage and a passenger out of town in the morning. Gives me more time to think. Though it seems I’m doing less thinking and more dodging as Miss Logan makes it clear to all where I was last night by waving, smiling, and blowing kisses whenever she passes. She’s doing me a favor, I suppose, but I could use a little less.

From the road Pike went down comes a fast horse. It kicks up dust all through town. A man of Slotter’s is on top and he heads for the mansion. Sure sign something’s happening and it’ll be coming down that road soon.

I worry about Pike and reason with myself that there’s no way John Slotter could know. He’s a heartless maniac, but not a Templar like his Pa. And his men are no better than thugs. They wouldn’t find anything they’re not looking for.

An hour later a squadron of horses escorting a polished black carriage roll through town on their way to the mansion. I take into the woods into the trees. Their road is winding and I end up reaching the destination as they arrive. Up in my tree, I’m too far away to hear what John Slotter says as he raises his arms in welcome and steps down from the porch where Isabelle stands.

A refined young man with a face as elongated as a horse and dark hair under his hat exits the carriage. He exudes the privileges of wealth. His dress is unmistakably British, but not of loyalist sort. He’s from there and wants to be recognized.

Could he be a Templar? He’s too far to see a ring. A man as wealthy as that wouldn’t come here over a coal mine, so there must be something else. Slotter’s too short on friends to suddenly have one now.

I wait until most of the men have gone inside with large trunks of luggage before climbing down. There’s little to hide behind on the yard between the treeline and the mansion. I’m forced to wait until the men get distracted by a passing woman under Slotter’s employ. I run and pray no one looks.

I make it to the shade of the house. No shouts. I breathe and look around to be sure no one’s seeing me before climbing the side of the house.

I’m careful and quiet. The lumber used to build this manor isn’t the cheap stuff and it’s hammered tight. I cosy into an alcove near a window and listen.

John Slotter’s voice carries loud and clear. “We’re always happy to oblige a friend of my father’s. Especially one so… weal-”

Isabella interrupts. “Well known for his business ventures. It’s an honor to finally meet the grand Sir Amedes Castellon in person.”

“My dear, I’m hardly deserving such praise. I’m practically a peasant. Though I suppose living so far removed from polite society can skew one’s perspective. Now, no apologies. I understand completely. My business is quick so I really should get on with it than take any more of your time than necessary.”

A rustling of chairs and the soft clearing of throats followed as I imagined they took their seats.

Sir Castellon says, “I would first like to build a manor here much like this one. I’ll need a portion of the available laborers for the task; I trust that’s not a problem. I should think I’ll be here a good while so I’ll be choosing of only your most handsome of land adequately removed from the rabble of the town. It might seem I’m intruding on your enterprise, but I assure you this arrangement will benefit you and yours greatly. In the following months, my businesses will set up their facilities and turn that shanty hobble up the road into a real town of note. In time, I’ll also have a solution to that fester of a Chinatown once their labor is no longer of use.”

Isabella says, “My… this all sounds too good to be true.”

John Slotter adds, “What do you get out of all this? Aside from a pretty house.”

Amusement fills Sir Castellon’s tone. “Protection of certain interests. Expanding business is much like waging war, Captain Slotter. Armies can’t be everywhere at once, so you must establish outposts, fortifications, and roads to hasten not just safe travel and trade, but communication. This will be one such outpost.”

They say nothing else of worth for the entirety of afternoon. I learn Castellon doesn’t take much to drinking or eating red meats. Wasn’t interested in the women Isabella tempted him with either. He remained determinately bored and detached from all the Slotters’ attempts at entertainment. When prompted, however, he did talk extensively about his two small daughters who will be arriving tomorrow morning.

Having gained little more than sores from crouching for so many hours, I give up and use the aid of darkness to cover my retreat.

Pike is back in town waiting anxiously for me by the carriage. “Were you there?”

I nod. “Sir Amedes Castellon. Plans to pour a whole lot of wealth into this place, but is shady about the purpose. Know of him?”

“He’s a Templar alright, but no one expected him to come out here. It’s unusual. The brotherhood is in a mess about it. They’re afraid, but they don’t know of what.”

“Castellon said something about making a communications outpost here.”

Pike’s eyes lit up. “That’s interesting. That… yes… that would make sense.”

“What don’t I know?”

He opens his mouth then thinks better of it. He looks around while holding up a finger. Quietly, he whispers, “Castellon is privy to a group of Templars that know the locations of the crystal skulls. If he’s taken one here, he has instant communication with the skull’s mates round the world.”

“They’re increasing their influence.” Chills run through me. Electricity is bad enough, attracting misfortunes, bad spirits, and the like. Now magic skulls. “But why here?”

“The world has to come here sooner or later, we’ve all known that. I reckon Castellon is trying to turn progress the way he like it. In Templars’ hands. What’s the edge of nowhere will be the middle of an empire someday.”

“Fair enough. So what we doing about it?”

From the fold of his coat he takes out a white feather. “We got his name. We take him out. We take the skull, too, if he has it. Only problem is the security he brought.”

“A sizeable problem. And there’ll be more coming with his daughters tomorrow.”

“Rushing in tonight is a sure way to die. We have no choice, but to wait till we know more. Castellon has a weakness. All men do.”

Jaw knots up. I don’t like the sound of more waiting, but I nod and go my way.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’ve been avoiding Rebecca, haven’t you?”

Miss Logan has her chin propped up on her wrists in bed. The night is quiet and the burning coals in the furnace are the only light. Don’t know why I keep coming back here when I know she’s going to ask these sorts of questions. Shouldn’t be letting myself get used to these sorts of comforts either.

“It’s none of your business.”

She flings a hand at my side. “Don’t be like that. Not when we’re friends now.”

“It’s decided, is it?”

“Well, what else would you call two unrelated persons that share a bed all week without sinning?”

“And you want to be? Friends?”

“Why, yes.”

“Then we could be.”

She fits against my side like a pair of spoons and I close my eyes. The easiness of her breathing keeps me calm. I’d be pacing a storm otherwise. Castellon arrived a week ago and we’re no closer to getting near him than when he arrived. With what more of him I learn each passing day only makes me dread having to take his life and not Slotter’s.

Castellon might be wanting rid of the Chinamen, but he’s fair to them. Doesn’t beat them, threaten them, or send them to their deaths the way Slotter has been. He was harsher to his own guards when he discovered the debauchery they filled their spare hours with. He had them whipped back into shape. Literally. He’s an idealist that wants to better humans. I’m not sure I wholly disagree. Who gets to fit his ideal is limited, and I doubt I’d make his list, however, I’d rather have a man like him in charge that a loose cannon like John Slotter.

Slotter; who will kill good ponies at their prime. Slotter; who has killed babes and innocent men if rumors are true.

It’s this side of the Brotherhood that I don’t like.

A question comes to mind and once it catches I can’t let it go. “Miss Logan, what is your opinion of Amedes Castellon?”

“I thought him handsome enough at first until he opened his mouth. Looks at everyone like a speck of dirt, don’t he? Except those darling daughters of his. No, I can’t say he’s worth much thinking about. If his purse brings a little more prosperity to town, he’s alright.”

Then she twists to look at me. Her mouth is O shaped. “Oh! I did hear something the ladies were saying. Turns out he isn’t bringing just merchants and brick layers to turn this town around. There’ll be a gentlemen following. Sounds exciting at first till you know they’re all like him. They don’t touch women and none are married. Odd, isn’t it? Some of the ladies said they’re probably sodomites.”

“But Castellon’s married.”

“Then why’s his wife at home while he and his daughters are here? He has all these plans to bring civilization here, but never mentions bringing his wife. Maybe she’s managing business over there. Or maybe their marriage was little more than convenience.”

“These followers then… what else have you heard?”

“They’re all young bachelors, for one. Some are even Indians and former slaves. Castellon considers them like a pet project—civilizing the uncivilized. But if the rumor is true, maybe civility isn’t all he’s teaching…”

Miss Logan talks on and I wonder how to use this. There’s only one _who_ that comes to mind and he won’t simply go along with a plan like this. Unless, he didn’t know he was being made an accomplice.

 

* * *

 

 

Marshal Caleb Mecredi rides into Janestown on a smoggy summer’s day. He don’t know it yet, but that report of runaway con artists possibly hiding under Castellon’s employ is a forgery constructed by our southern contacts. The bumping of the saddle don’t disturb him none as he passes on towards Castellon’s new property. There’s a strange sort of perfectness to him, like some invisible artist sprinkled dust on him _just-so_. Sunlight always hit him the right way and the breeze hits all the stringy bits of his coat like a dance. Just isn’t natural.

Pike and I follow from a distance, picking now to deliver the orders of four working horses. Castellon notices Mecredi the very moment he crosses the threshold of his property. He stood there, monocle forgotten in his hand as his architect held up prints of the floor plans. “Sir? …S-sir Castellon? The porch…?”

Pike leans to me. “Half of me thought it all gossip, but if you ask me he looks mighty smitten.”

Like a romance in one of them two-penny novels, Mecredi dismounted and shook the awed Castellon’s hand. We didn’t hear what they said, but the manner of Castellon’s hand gestures and glances suggested flattery. Mecredi throws his head back and laughs. He takes off his hat and holds it to his chest, crow’s feet near his eyes as he smiles modestly. They seem fast friends.

We deliver the horses and return to Janestown to wait. In the coming days, word of the budding relationship spreads. Kat Loving corners Mecredi by his horse to chat and I lean against the corner of a crib to listen.

“You coming round here regular-like, Marshal.” She’s as terse as ever.

“I apologize for not saying hello. Didn’t know if you wanted to see me.”

“That isn’t why I’m here.”

“Then why are you here, Mrs. Loving?”

“What’s your interest in that Castellon fellow?”

“Thought some criminals might be hiding under him, but that lead’s gone cold. Now I just prefer his company. He’s a good man with some good ideals. Believes in equal opportunities for folks like us. You might like him.”

“Lots of men seem good of the surface. It’s what’s underneath that worries me. You should too.”

Mecredi climbs his mount and bows his hat. “I’ve heard the gossip and I assure you Sir Castellon is no sodomite. He prefers the company of men, yes, but commits no sins with them.” There’s a pause and I risk a glance to see Mecredi staring off with a dreamy look in his gaze as Mrs. Loving’s jaw hangs half open. Her upper lips curl slightly and her eyes squint. Mecredi sighs. “Him and the men that follow him believe in a higher, nobler form of love. Love born of friendship, intellect, and shared purpose. They want to make this world better. Organize it into what God intended. I only wish there were more like him and that I had more reason to stay.”

Mrs. Loving gives no response and Mecredi rides on back to the border.

I find Uncle Pike purchasing a shot of whiskey from Mrs. Briggs and tell him every word.

He throws his head back and pours the whole shot down his throat without a taste. He grimaces. “Good. He’s taking the bait. Can’t do more now than hope he bites the hook with it.”

“If he doesn’t we’ll have another Templar to put down.” My knees are rattling from all that could go wrong. I don’t want to be sitting still at a table, drinking. And as we concern ourselves with Templars, the rest of the people here still suffer from their problems and we do nothing for them. Every time I’m spying on Castellon, I’m not watching Rebecca. She’s smart, but she can’t see good from wrong sometimes. I’ve lost track of who and what goes through her door. I’m no closer to fixing things than when I started. This town is made of matchsticks and even if I could stop it from falling down, I don’t know how to stop it from burning.

 

* * *

 

 

When Castellon takes the bait and hook it is sudden, unannounced, and in the dead of night. We could have blinked and missed it. A hooded figure uses the servant’s exit of Slotter’s manor and carries no torch. My gut knows it’s him. I nudge uncle Pike awake and point. “Has to be him.” In the darkness, the figure runs to the horse’s stables. Pike squints and he must feel the same thing in his gut as I do because he nods gravely. We climb down from our perch and find the horses.

The alert ears of the mares turn from left to right as we silently wait and we know that the rider’s horse has passed down the road. Getting to there, I can see the faint yellow glow of fresh tracks. The Sense, the Assassins call it. Don’t know how it works, it don’t make much sense, but it’s handy. Means we can keep our distance.

We follow Castellon into the wilds and there we pick up speed. He’s heading to Mecredi. What kind of seduction he had planned for the Marshal that night we’ll never know, because his black mare isn’t as fast as ours. Pike sprints ahead and gets in range to shoot a sleeping dart at the horse. Lands right on the cheek. She slows and collapses, throwing Castellon into the stiff mud.

He wipes his cloak behind his shoulders and hisses, “Assassins. So you’ve come.”

I hold out my gun high so he can see it pointing at him. “What do the Templars want with Janestown?”

He laughs like it’s funniest joke he’s heard in ages. “What would anyone want with that worthless cesspool? Why are you fools so concerned? You’re scrabbling and disorganized. The glory days of the Assassins are gone and all the remainder of you can do is cling fruitlessly. I would turn Janestown into bastion of civilization for humanity’s benefit and you would ruin that just to spite a change beyond your power to stop. If any of you truly wanted to help this world, you would let me go and hunt the real evils in the world.”

I waver, like a blink, and he sees it. He draws his gun like lightning and shoots. As it hits me, I squeeze the trigger and it fires pointlessly into the dark. Next thing I know I’m on the dirt and my back weighs like lead. I can’t pick myself up. The mud is thick and sucks me to it.

I hear Pike and Castellon scuffle. Another shot followed by more grunting and the slopping of mud. Then a man sighs and there’s silence. I close my eyes and breathe. These could be my last.

“Morgan.” Uncle Pike crouches near with fear in his grey eyes, stopping short of touching me with his hand.

“I’m alive.”

“It don’t look good, nephew.”

A weird smile stretches over my teeth. “It don’t feel good neither.”

He lifts me onto my horse and ties my arms around her neck when I can’t stay on my own. Things keep going pitch dark. Only bits of the ride come to me. Mostly the jostling of the horse. An urge to vomit. And a sense of warmth running through the front of my chest, seeping through the bindings.

By the time we get wherever we’re going, I feel like I’m drowning in a cold heat. Hands rip me from the saddle and I groan. “Shh, quiet,” my uncle says. Nothing coherent comes out of my mouth in reply. I’m pulled forward and I stumble, feet scraping against steps and floorboards. I hit a doorway and Pike pulls me through it.

“Miss Finn’s been shot?” It’s her voice.

“Rebecca…”

“You can’t tell anyone, Mrs. Blithely. This has to stay secret for his sake,” Pike says with a shaken voice.

Her fingers lift my eyelids up but I don’t see much through the swirls of light.

“Hurry. Here.”

Everything is spun around until I realize I’m lying down on a cot in the room. I’m to be operated on. A wet cloth is pressed to my face and the fumes overwhelm me.

 

* * *

 

 

Miss Finn.

_Miss Finn._

“Miss Finn?”

I gasp and start. My head is in a mountain of pain. “Don’t call me that.”

She wrings a cloth between her hands and puts it on my forehead. It helps a little. “…Morgan?”

I cringe at the way she says it. Like the name is full of laces. “No. That isn’t what I meant.”

“…Is there another name I can call you?”

“No.” I sigh, wishing all the pain would go away so I could say things right. In a way she’d understand. I regret bringing it up at all. “There isn’t.”

She’s thinking real hard. Then her eyes look to the stand and I notice the soup there. Steam faintly wafts from it. “You should try to eat. You need to keep your strength up.”

She stuffs more pillows behind my head. Just that much hurts like being ripped apart through my gut. I can hardly breathe. She waits until I settle, watching the bandages on my stomach for bleeding. There’s no binding on my chest, I realize. Only a sheet for modesty.

My teeth are locked together from the pain. “How bad is it?”

“It hasn’t reopened. Infection is the biggest threat now. The swelling is… worrisome.”

Her hand comes up to thread her fingers through my hair. I flinch, but she persists. The tips of her fingers feel cool against my scalp. I remember all too well what kissing her felt like. How she tasted. The longing that curdles up is tangible and mixed up with the bloating in my stomach that feels like it’ll burst and kill me if it isn’t let out.

“I can’t lose you too.” Her voice trembles. Moisture wells in her eyes and threaten to fall. I lose my breath.

“…I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

She shakes her head and dabs the tears from her eyelids with her apron. “It’s getting cold.” She picks up the soup and brings a spoonful to my lips.

I fall asleep almost immediately after eating. Time passes in a funny way like looping circles caving in on each other. Some moments are clearer than others. There’s a sameness to it all grounded within the room that never changes and never feels as still as I’d like. Pikes comes by to confirm our story if anyone asks any questions. He can’t be seen visiting here too often, so this is the last time until I get better. Or don’t. As far as everyone in town knows, I’m working elsewhere and Mrs. Blithely doesn’t have a patient.

It’s her bed I’m resting on. There wasn’t anywhere else to hide me. The realization comes with an odd sense of guilt. This isn’t how I imagined becoming acquainted with it. I feel sorry for bleeding and sweating so much on the sheets.

Traders found Castellon’s body the morning after his death—five days ago. His men are looking for his killer and it won’t be long before Mecredi gets news of it.

I know it’s him the moment I hear the front door slam open and all of Rebecca’s jars rattle on their shelves. He doesn’t ask any questions. He walks right to the back and finds me like he knew I’d be here. The only surprise is that he recognizes me. “I’ve seen you before.”

I’m also surprised he recognized me in my condition. I must look awful. I feel awful. The fever hasn’t let up and the skin on my face feels like it’s sagging. The grease must be half out of my hair from how drenched with sweat it is. “I’m the nephew of Pike Brady. My name’s Morgan Finn. Seen you round here too, Marshal.”

“Right. Mr. Finn. Mind telling me why you’re not in the patient’s bed if you’re a patient?”

“Mrs. Blithely reckoned I’d heal better here. Softer bed.”

Rebecca is behind him and she nods when he looks over. Before she could come up with some doctoring reason, Mecredi continues his questioning, “And how did you injure yourself?”

“Was grooming one of uncle’s horses, a stallion not yet broken in, when it gave me a kick to the ribs. Nearly killed me.”

Mecredi takes out a knife from his person. “If I were to remove those bandages, is that what I would find?”

I try to move, but the pain keeps me down. “What you on about? Is it illegal to be kicked by a horse now?”

Mecredi gives an incredulous laugh and strides over to pin me down by my shoulder. He holds the knife threatening-like. “Nah, because I know no horse gone kicked you. That’s a bullet wound under there. One fired by the man you killed. Amedes Castellon. Why’d you do it? You took nothing off his person. You just left his body there. Was it a grudge? Money?”

“I don’t know what you’re on about. You’ve gone mad.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Mecredi reaches to rip the sheets off when Rebecca shouts, “Stop. Step away!” She’s holding a gun I ain’t seen before. He straightens and shows the palm of his hand.

“Mrs. Blithely, we both know you won’t use it. You’re a doctor, right? You act the part anyway. That means you took an oath.”

“I’m not a doctor right now.”

Still, the gun trembles in her hand.

“Why protect this man? He killed another in cold blood. He’s a murderer, Mrs. Blithely. Not a man safe for a woman to be round. Whatever kindness you see cannot excuse what he’s done. Castellon was a good man who would’ve helped this town and everyone in it.”

Her wide eyes turn moist. “I can’t lose him. M-Mr. Finn… this town… they’re my future. I belong here. And h-he needs to be here. He _helps_ me belong.”

“That, unfortunately, has little to none to do with justice, Mrs. Blithely. And I represent justice.”

“Whose justice?”

Kat Loving strides in with an air cool and untouchable. “You’re outside the laws here, Marshal. Your justice doesn’t reach here way I see it.”

“This man is a _murderer_.”

“Of a man killed outside your border and no citizen of yours. No justice for you to find here, only revenge. This is my case. I’ll handle it.”

“No, Mrs. Loving. I think not.”

He reaches for his gun holster.

Rebecca shot first. The water pitcher on the night stand beside me shatters. Water spills out and a few droplets hit my cheek. Mecredi stands shocked with his hand still on the holster. Mrs. Loving pulls her own out and pulls him out by the arm. “You’re lucky she’s a bad shot.” She takes one look back at us as she goes. “I will be back to sort this out.”

Only us two left now. Rebecca’s arms shake like rattles as she places the gun on a small table and unhooks her locked fingers from it. She stands there at a loss for what to do next, a hundred thoughts filling her head.

“…Come here,” I say.

She comes over like an automaton and sits on the bed. I can’t sit up to hold her so I place a hand on her knee and another on her elbow. She stills and breathes a little deeper. “Maybe I can convince the sheriff, make her see, that you shouldn’t be punished.”

The trips of my fingers can reach the ends of her curls and I give them a little brush. “It’s alright. Ain’t nothing more you can do. I brought this on myself.”

“I know you wouldn’t kill anyone without good cause.”

“I’m not so sure. Truth is I had orders. I don’t know if following them is for the best if it means things stay the rotten way they are here.”

Her hands encased mine over her lap. “I don’t mind things staying this way if it means we can both stay.”

I don’t really get it. “How can you say you belong in this dangerous place?”

“I can be helpful here. I’m a doctor. I’m wanted. And you… no one’s wanted me before, the way you have.”

A lump forms in my throat and I swallow it down. “And you want me? The way I am?”

She nods. “Also, alive and well.”

I squeeze her hand to reassure her I’m still fighting the fever. Not that I stand much chance against Mrs. Loving should she decide my execution. “Then will you lie here with me until the sheriff gets back?”

Stiffly and with care not to prod me, she goes onto her side and rests her head on her hands. “I’m still not sure how to call you.”

“How you used to is fine.”

“Mr. Finn?”

It’s a simple thing like that which brings all the memories back.

We fall asleep like that until the opening and closing of the front door wakes us. Rebecca sits up and rubs the sand from her eyes as Mrs. Loving walks in. “Did you kill Amedes Castellon? Don’t think you can still hide it if you did. I could bring the marshal back.”

“Right, no point hiding it. But I want you to listen before passing judgment.”

She pulls up a chair and straddles it. “I’m all ears. Talk.”

“Castellon is part of a larger following. Most of his followers likely don’t know. They’re linked with Cornelius Slotter and many others of affluence. A man like Castellon might do good and keep his promises, but he represents a foothold of a larger power that would have taken root here. A power that would cost people like us in the long run.”

Mrs. Loving narrows her eyes. “People like us?”

“Outcasts. Female Sheriffs. Women who want to be doctors. Anyone who chooses to live as who they want and how they want. People who value freedom. Castellon might never have done anything to harm us, but the people he helps would have. They want to establish order and control. There aren’t places for ones who don’t follow in their world.”

“Templars. You’re an Assassin?”

Rebecca looks at both of us, not following.

I’m speechless. “You… know?”

“My father was an Assassin. He thought he could work with them and save our people, but he was wrong. He focused so much on pushing the Templars away that he left his people open to other white men who came and pushed us out of our land. He died losing everything. Because of that, I never became an Assassin. I know they can’t help people like me. Just cause or not.”

I couldn’t disagree. “I’m sorry for that.”

She stands up and slides the chair back to its former place. “Rebecca’s saved my life and that of my children, so I’ll tell Mecredi I checked your wounds and saw no bullet wound. That Mrs. Blithely had simply overreacted out of her feelings. Whether that’ll hold him, I can’t say. You might want to move Mr. Finn someplace he won’t be found so easily just in case Castellon’s followers come in the night.”

Rebecca says, “Moving him is too risky.”

“Then I’d prepare to defend yourselves. Unless, Mr. Finn, you want to turn yourself over to avoid the bloodshed.”

“No. He doesn’t.” Rebecca held her fists up adamantly.

“Mrs. Blithely, I can’t defend myself like this and neither can you,” I say.

She turns to me like I’ve betrayed her. “You can’t.”

“Then I have to be moved into hiding. I’m dead either way. Mrs. Loving, is my uncle in town? Can you find him?”

“I’ll do that.” She leaves.

Rebecca goes to prepare supplies. “You’ll need plenty of clean bandages and medicine for the fever…”

Uncle Pike arrives just as Rebecca has most everything in a suitcase. They get me on a stretcher and carry me out to my uncle’s wagon. The evening is dark, but there’re enough people around to wonder what we’re up to. It’ll be talked about and I won’t look too innocent.

Once I’m settled in, Rebecca clasps my hand in grave seriousness. “You will come back? When your well?”

“As soon as I’m well enough to ride a horse back here.”

She smiles with a gasp like that’s all there is holding her together. There’s a lot I want to say and do, but now’s not the time. It never seems to be. Instead, I stroke her cheek and hold it in my palm. Her skin is unbelievable soft against the callouses on my hand. She kisses my forehead and my lips quickly. “Farewell, Mr. Finn.”

Rebecca climbs down and the wagon jostles forward. I know it’ll be a hard ride. My insides already protect. I still manage to smile at her though so she’ll believe I’ll do okay. She’s the love of my life.

 


End file.
